Nameless Face
by lovemeidareyou
Summary: Simon is focal point of St Xavier's. Every girl stares at him. Apart from the new girl, Natalie, who doesn't seem to like him very much at all. Simon's intregue leads to discovery of Natalie's true identity, hidden from the world. Natalie's POV.


I used to think that the faeries I saw in the park were just my imagination. That they were products of hours spent writing out fantasies of magical worlds; sometimes tailoring them to someone else's imagination and posting them on fan fiction sites; sometimes just writing for myself. I used to believe in logic, reason and sarcasm; in physics and maths. Never magic.

And then I met him. With perfect grace and skin cool to the touch.

He told us that he was the same as everyone else. Just a schoolboy trying to juggle geometry with band-practise and a girlfriend. They believed him, too. But I didn't. It's not that I had any evidence or reasonable justification not to trust him … but something sent alarm bells ringing in my head every time he was around.

Suddenly his perfection scared me. The way it seemed like he was slowing himself down in sports wasn't cute anymore, but rather inexplicably dangerous. His piercing eyes didn't mess with my adrenaline because of attraction; it was fear.

***

"Natalie, how about you answer this one?"

I looked up from the rough paper I was doodling on. Miss Clark, my history teacher, was above my desk, smiling a deceptively kindly smile that didn't reach anywhere near her eyes. I grinned back at her.

"Okay."

There was silence. As it drew on, a few of the class snickered.

"Well? Do you have an answer for us?"

I frowned as if in confusion. "I just gave it. You asked, I answered."

A girl three desks to my left seemed to give up containing her laughter, and snorted inelegantly. Miss Clark's eyes darkened and her smile vanished.

"Come to the front, Natalie," she said sweetly. She turned on her four-inch stiletto heels and strutted towards her desk in her pencil skirt and white almost-see-through blouse.

I sighed dramatically and picked myself up from my chair, pausing to unhook a chain that had caught in one of the huge cracks in the seat. It freed itself with a jingle, and rejoined the three others that hung from the back of my loose jeans pocket to the knee of my right leg.

"Natalie, I will not ask again," Miss Clark's voice rang dangerously.

I grinned again. "I'm hoping just that."

She glared, all traces of sweet pretence gone.

I wondered if it was really wise to push her any further than I already had done. It might be the end of term, but I wasn't willing to bank my future in St Xavier's on Miss Clark's good-holiday-mood.

The boy sat in the desk behind me reached over and gave me a little push on the small of my back. I turned around and glared at him. He might by my best friend since I moved to New York, but Ryan should know better than to make me seem ridiculous when the entire room's attention was focused on me.

I straightened my black _PunkyFish _tank top to make the rips in the front gape a little wider and reveal the luminous pink beneath, then scuffed my brother's old trainers to the front.

"So, if you're up for light conversation, Miss, how about we discuss the quality of your washing machine?" I asked her. I took my chances and sat on the corner of her desk casually as if she were and old friend.

Thankfully, she looked temporarily too stunned to yell at me. "My _washing machine_?"

"Yes," I agreed conversationally. "I mean, clearly it's soaking the colour out of your shirt faster than most athletes run."

Miss Clark looked as if she were about to explode. Hastily, I hopped off her desk before she could do so all over me. The tension between the entire class was tangible.

"Natalie," she thrust a slip of red paper at me. "You will take this directly to the Headmistress's office-"

I couldn't resist. "Do not pass go, do not collect two-hundred?"

"_Now!_"

I grinned at her, then turned and waved cheerily at the rest of the class. A tentative spatter of "Good for you!" and "Bye, Natalie!" floated my way as I left the room.

My name isn't really Natalie. Sure, that's what's written on my birth certificate, but it never really suited me. You know how you can sometimes look at a person and think, "She's an Emma," or "The name Talia suits her." Well, I've never had that. I look in the mirror and all I see is … blank. My face staring back at me, but with no name to match.

I rounded the corner to the three flights of stairs that climbed the tower block to the Headmistress's office.

It was because of my weird no-name affliction that no one _ever_ calls me Natalie unless they don't know me; or are scared of me (the words _Miss Clark _come nicely to mind here…). Ryan sticks to some form of shortening of Natalie, like Nat or Lia. My best friend from Florida used to call me Melinda, because it was her favourite name. My ex-boyfriend, Seth, nicknamed me after whatever I was wearing today (the relationship ended abruptly when he yelled, "Own Boxers" in my direction one day). 'Natalie' just never _stuck_.

Five flights up, and I was panting like a race-dog. The ridiculously steep stairs made even the best of athletes look good - I would know; I ran state cross-country for under seventeen back in Orange County. I could just about see the rich mahogany office door that proclaimed to be headmistress. How obnoxious of it.

I swung open the double doors to the foyer and knocked on the door.

"Come in, Natalie."

My eyebrows shot up as I opened the door. She knew it was me?

The office was one I had visited on a regular basis since coming to the school. It was modestly decorated in a rich oak-coloured theme, with a worn wooden desk at the far end of the rectangular room, partially obscuring the view of three or four bookcases.

A kindly middle-aged woman with her blonde hair scraped back into a short pony tail glanced up from paperwork. She wore a knowing smile. I shut the door behind me and sat down at the chair in front of the desk.

"Mrs G? How did you know it was me?"

Mrs G looked back at her work. "Because it is fourth period on a Thursday; you are in Miss Clark's class, and you never seem to last long with her."

I found myself grinning. Two months and I already had a reputation for routinely pissing off a teacher. At my last school it took me six.

"Yeah," I said. "Sorry about that." Not at all.

"No need," Mrs G replied airily. "You are by far not the worst we've had. Mr Lewis often decides to skip her class completely to avoid the hassle of changing class venues."

My inner elation deflated. I was being outdone by a guy who _didn't even turn up to the lessons_. Not cool.

"Oh, uh … good, I think. Um, Mrs G?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"I believe you just did."

"Why don't you care what happens with Miss Clark's class? I mean, you let this guy cut the lesson and you don't ever exactly seem to be ready to suspend me," I asked her curiously.

The lady smiled and leaned back in her chair, abandoning whatever forms she was scratching at with her fountain pen. "Oh no, Natalie. Quite on the contrary; I care very much. But it is for my students that I care, and not for a woman who dresses very … controversially."

A surprised bubble of laughter escaped me. If she didn't like Miss Clark, Mrs G would very fast become one of my favourite people in New York. Not that I could say much, considering I'd only been here a month, and the non-faculty people I'd met amounted to a prostitute, a few school friends, and a very, very gay street-magician.

I shot a look at the teacher. "She doesn't like the way _I_ dress," I told her experimentally.

Mrs G raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't surprise me, Natalie. Mr Lewis was routinely excluded from the class for being too pale."

My laughter faded into a little giggle. This _Mr Lewis_ was annoying me and I'd never even met him.

"Did he wear badly-matched foundation?" I asked.

Mrs G smiled, but didn't answer. I wondered if I had crossed an invisible line. The silence stretched out between us, until I felt like drumming my fingers on my denim-covered thigh wasn't entertaining enough.

"Can I go, Mrs G?"

She barely looked up. "Of course. How about you head out to the field and do some running. That way it will seem as though I have given you punishment, and you can practise for the inter-school championships next week."

I got up hesitantly. Should I thank her? Probably not; it looked like another disturbance to her paperwork might cause her to be less than friendly. I crossed the office to the door and left.

On my way down to the locker rooms, it struck me how still the school was. There was a distant murmur of lessons continuing behind the standardised flimsy wooden doors that I passed. I wasn't the strangeness of it; I had been out during class time enough to know what a working school sounded like. It was the familiarity. It sounded just like my school back in Panama City.

_Then again, I guess every school is the same when it comes down to it. There's always jocks, cheerleaders, nerds, popular people in general, musicians, athletes, misfits … _I wondered: If I closed my eyes, could I fool myself into thinking I was home?

I collided with a trash bin.

I kept thinking of home as I got changed into my track kit, and as I jogged out onto the field. I thought of my friends; of the lazy barbeques in late fall; of the beautifully exhausting heat mid-summer; of the clueless tourists who wanted nothing more than to see Mickey Mouse; of my favourite band that I used to go see play gigs every Saturday before they made it big time. Florida filled my head and my heart as I ran around the track once, twice … and on the third lap, I realised I wasn't alone.

A boy about my age with a visible shock of dark hair was running at the same pace as me, about a quarter of the track behind me. I twisted back as I jogged to get a better look. He was staring directly at me. I snapped my head back and put on a burst of speed equivalent of that which would win me a race in state champs. Maybe that way I could get enough ahead so the boy couldn't look at me anymore.

I glanced back to see how far he had dropped behind. He had gained about five metres.

Annoyed, I stopped and turned to face him, hands on my hips.

"Hey," I yelled. "What's the deal?"

The boy jogged up to me. Keeping up must have taken effort because he looked ready to pass out.

When he spoke, however, it was with even breath.

"No deal. The sun's quite pleasant today, though, don't you think?"

He turned his face towards the orange orb suspended in the sky as if he were a sunflower. I shifted my weight between hips.

"You a runner?" I asked.

"No."

"Then how could you keep up with me?" This guy was irritating.

"It wasn't hard."

Anger bubbled inside me. It wasn't _hard_?!

"Dude, I ran state cross country last term. Of course it was hard." I paused. "Besides, you look like you're not in any good shape, so it clearly took _something_ out of you," I informed him triumphantly.

The boy smiled a set of pearly white teeth. I narrowed my eyes at his easy-going manner.

"You could say I compete," he said. "But it was meant as a compliment. You're fast."

My jaw dropped. "A _compliment_! Are you _kidding_?"

The boy put a palm to his forehead gently, as if frustrated with himself. He was still very pale from keeping up, and it annoyed me that he evidently thought himself in a position to compliment _me_.

"Sorry, that sounded wrong. I meant that it _was_ harder than usual for me to keep pace -"

"You are _unbelievable_," I told him, rolling my eyes. I turned away before he could answer and sprinted the rest of the track until I came back to the entrance to the field. I glanced back towards the where the boy was, in case he actually _had_ passed out and needed medical attention. It seemed likely.

But the boy was gone.

I frowned at the empty expanse of green. He was probably hiding behind some of the trees in the woods behind the field. I jogged over, unwillingly concerned, and scanned the trees carefully. He wasn't there.

_Must've sprinted the other way around the track and out when I wasn't looking_, I reasoned. I rolled my eyes at my own misplaced trepidation and walked back to the lockers. I still had ten minutes before the period was out, and I wasn't in any particular hurry to get to lunch break early.

***

The cafeteria here wasn't great. I mean, for a standard school, I guess it was okay. I'd seen worse on midday television. But back home, for two hundred days of the year, everyone sat outside in the beautiful heat and people would criss-cross between social groups. (The other days were holidays or the occasional thunderstorm.) Here, the large round tables might as well have neon signs screaming "Jock Clique!" or "Nerd Herd!"

I grabbed a tray at the food bar and filled it with my favourites; a burger, fries, and a side salad just to be healthy; then I strode over to my usual table.

Ryan was already there, his check shirt hanging comfortably over his lean form as he leant across the table to talk to a pretty blonde in a denim skirt and black blouse. Next to her sat a girl of Greek origin, her perfect curly brown hair reaching close to her waist and framing her striking tanned features. She was talking to another guy next to her, who's blonde hair swept across his forehead in a cute careless manner. He was smiling at me as I sat down between Ryan and the blonde girl.

"Hey, Emma," I said. "What's Ry got to say that's so important you have to bathe your hair in ketchup?"

"_What!_" the blonde shrieked, jumping back off her stool to examine the tips of her hair for red staining. "Oh, sometimes you are nothing less than ridiculous," she huffed as she found none. Emma sat back down and glared at the four amused faces.

Ryan tousled his chocolate hair, taking attention off her. "I was giving her tips for her interview later," he proclaimed lazily. "Sit back, relax, be confident." He grinned lazily to emphasise the point.

I started on my burger. "Kind of like you were in Miss Clark's class?"

Ryan shrugged. "Hey, _I _would quite like to get into college."

I snorted. "And _I_ would like to be a world class musician."

The blonde boy sitting next to me, Brendan, laughed. "Man, we're all for a bit of dreaming, but I reckon Legs here has the right idea. You're not going to get credit from Clark."

My fork clattered to the plate as I freed my hand to hit Brendan. "Call me "Legs" again, and I'll shave your hair in your sleep."

His hand sprang to his head. "No way," he gasped.

I thought back two weeks to when he'd busted into the girls' locker room after hours and caught me showering after training.

"Yes way," I told him.

Emma elbowed the girl next to her. "Hey, Naida, I think we should cut it anyway."

Naida's eyes sparkled as she looked at Brendan out of the corner of her dark eyes. "Hell, yes," she agreed.

"What did Mrs G say after you basically called our history teacher a burlesque queen?" Ryan asked interestedly as he picked at my fries.

"Eat your pasta," I told him, batting his hand. "She laughed and told me I wasn't as bad as some other guy who actually cuts the classes."

There was a collective intake of breath.

"No _way_," Brendan said, appalled.

"She has a death wish," Emma agreed.

"But you've been sent out _every lesson_," protested Naida.

I shrugged, glad that at least my new mates shared my opinion that this was a heinous scandal. "I know. Don't have a clue who he is, but I I _will_ tell him exactly what I think of him when I do get a clue."

Ryan patted my arm. "Ah, Nat, but you gave us all a laugh. We'll go tell Mrs G how disruptive you are in class if you want." He looked to the others, who immediately made indistinct noises of consent.

I laughed and pulled my plate away from Ryan's other hand advancing on my fries again. "Thanks, guys, but it's only Miss Clark who's worth having any fun with. And you, Ryan, kiss the air where she walks - " Ryan rolled his eyes "- so thanks, but I'm good."

"Oooh," Naida squealed, looking over my shoulder to the cafeteria queue. "Simon just walked in!"

"Mm mm," Emma approved, craning her neck to get a better view. "He is one beautiful boy."

The boys simultaneously tousled their hair. I shook my head, not even bothering to look at the guy they fawned over every lunch. I made a point of not knowing who it was.

"You'd think they get bored," Brendan hissed at Ry as I started on my salad. "Once they realise he's _taken_."

Ryan shrugged, glancing at the Simon commodity. "Yeah, but you wouldn't complain if that was you."

Brendan looked as if he was about to argue.

"Oh don't even try," I told him. "You guys _idolise _him. If he painted his nails pink and wore stilettos to school, you two would be stumbling after him in prom dresses."

Both reached over and stole a few fries simultaneously. I shrugged.

"D'you think he's noticed us?" Emma was whispering, eyes still glued somewhere over my shoulder.

"I wish," Naida sighed. "But with the exception of Fifi, every girl in the cafeteria is staring at him."

I made an unhappy noise. _Fifi_.

"I'm not a dog," I reminded Naida. She didn't seem to hear me.

Ryan glared at the girls, before raising his eyebrows as Emma suddenly snapped back to prime beautiful-blonde position and smacked her lips gently. Brendan exchanged confused glances with me as Naida's eyes widened and her hands froze.

"What?" Brendan, Ryan and I all asked at the same time.

A familiar voice floated above my head. "Hey, Runner."

I paused in the act of raising a tomato to my lips and turned to see the intruder. It was the excruciatingly irritating boy from the tracks. I turned back.

"Leave," I told him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Emma and Naida look as though they'd been slapped.

"No, don't," Emma said breathlessly, moving over to make room between her and Naida.

Ryan frowned up at Track Boy. "Please do," he said rudely. Emma glared.

"Yeah, we have plenty of room," Naida told him, patting the air. I raised my eyebrows at her and turned back to wave the boy away before the girls started drooling.

Track Boy smiled, and his teeth flashed. "Thanks, but Maia's waiting over there. I just thought I'd say hi."

"You said it," I told him. "And too much more."

His smile widened, and I wondered if anyone had ever actually punched this boy for his blatant disregard for other people.

"You remind me of someone," he told me.

Well, if no one _had _done so, then I would hit him. I stood up, chains jingling against my leg.

"Look, _dude_, I don't care if I remind you of a fairy dancing on a toadstool; and quite frankly, if you don't leave soon, I _will_ make you." I shot daggers at his perfectly shaped eyes. He didn't seem bothered - rather, slightly amused.

"Sorry about earlier," he said, then glanced at the others at the table. "See you round."

Track Boy turned and left. I sat down and went back to my salad, ready to be victim of a stream of abuse from Emma and Naida. Instead, they seemed to have gone back into their Simon-bubble.

"Oh my _God_," Naida squeaked. "He said he'd _see us around_!"

Brendan ignored her and gave me a thumbs up. "Thanks for that. We've been wanting to do that for a while."

I grinned at him. "Whatever, girly."

Ryan patted me awkwardly on the back, and a thought occurred to me.

"Hey," I asked him. "Was that the same Simon that those two always lose their eyeballs for?"

Ryan nodded. "The very same."

I twisted back to locate Track Boy, intrigued to see what every other girl did. I found him sitting at a table with a pretty dark haired girl and a huge blonde boy.

Track Boy was still visibly pale from running earlier, but it almost suited him against his dark hair. His skin, apart from being sheet white, was perfect - smooth and flawless with not a blemish anywhere. Granted, he was sitting quite far away, but it looked as though this would hold true if I were to stare an inch from his nose. As he reached to brush a stray hair from the girl's hair, I realised that everything I'd seen him do was graceful. It was almost clear why Emma and Naida were so obsessed over him.

I went back to the remnants of my meal, catching Brendan's eye. He looked worried.

"Please," he said. "Please tell me you haven't turned into a fan girl too."

I smiled at him and fanned my face. "Oh, _Simon_," I breathed in a high-pitched voice. "Oh, he's so _perfect_ and he said he'd _see us around_!"

Brendan looked horrified.

"Relax, Bren," I told him. "I don't see it."

I glanced jealously and Emma and Naida's eyes drinking in more of his perfection.

* * *

_**A/N**_: _I wondered what life would be at St Xavier's from someone else's POV, so I thought I'd write this. Some plot has been developing in the crevices of my mind, so I think I'll carry this on as a mini-story. _

_Also, I remind you that this is set just _after_ my first story, "I Missed You". I know it's not finished yet, but I promise it will be continuous plot :)_

_Lastly … Review my work? It's really helpful, and I do love it when I know someone's taken the time to read my stuff!_


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